9 - Don't Knock It

Jon softly tapped the screen, disconnecting the call with the barest hint of a frown creasing both his mouth and forehead.

His first reaction at hearing the cautiously husky feminine voice was a punch of lust – the same slam in the solar plexus that he experienced talking to her on the phone last night.  There was something about Sheridan King that reached out grabbed him by the short hairs.  And while that was not altogether an unpleasant thing, it didn’t exactly mesh with his second reaction – annoyance.

The fact that she thought she could dial him up for a damn booty call, after dismissing him in no uncertain terms – not once or twice, but three times…?  Well, her arrogance pissed him off.  Who was she to think he was going to come running just because she finally decided to crook her little finger?   

He pushed himself from the couch to a standing position while hitting the button that would power off the television he’d muted a few moments ago.  Fingers wrapped loosely around his phone, he padded barefoot across the dark wood floors to climb to the upper level of his condo.

Her spunk was a little bit impressive-slash-hot, though.  Admit it.  She didn’t back down when you called her out.

No, instead of declaring him a sonofabitch when he demanded that she put voice to her want, Sheridan hardly hesitated before accommodating his request.  Not only had she accommodated it, she’d done it in a voice made for phone sex.

Jon pulled a frown as his body gave an interested twitch at the mental echo of, “I want you, Jon.”

He stripped his t-shirt and tossed it toward the closet with a soft grunt of frustration.  A shower would help control his errant craving.  This was a physical need that needed to be slaked, brought on by a recent bout of celibacy.  Nothing more.  It had been two or three weeks since his last tumble in the sheets.

And it was nowhere as good as Jamaica.

Not many things were as good as Jamaica.

Hot prickles of water danced against his scalp as he tipped his head back into the shower’s spray, running an open palm over his scalp, and reached for the shampoo.  Hastily scrubbing the soap through his hair, he indulged in the memory of the woman from paradise.

The way she boldly approached him, only to back down when she realized who he was had been oddly endearing.  That whole honor bar thing had given him more than one secret smile in the ensuing months.   So had her caustic comments about being another notch in his bedpost. 

Sheridan had made no assumptions or demands of him once she found out who he was.  He grinned.  The only demands she had were ‘harder’ or ‘faster’ or ‘don’t stop’.

Sudsy bubbles were rinsed from his hair and Jon reached for the bar of soap, briskly building a lather between his palms that was then spread over his chest.    

He could still see the candlelight dancing across her bare ass as she, on hands and knees, wiggled it and dropped her elbows to the mattress.  The strawberry blonde of her hair had been golden when she whipped it around so she could peer at him over her shoulder.  “Let’s get it on,” she’d rasped.

The dark, exotic memory tugged at him.  In direct response, Jon’s soapy hand slid lower and… tugged at him. The recalled weight of her against him in the SUV and the silkiness of the bare strip of flesh above her stockings had him unconsciously squeezing his tightening sac.

Are you seriously gonna jack off in the shower with a hot, willing piece of tail just minutes away?  The woman you’ve been jonesing to fuck all week?

Another sudsy swipe had Jon cradling his balls in his hand.  He wasn’t going to tuck his tail between his legs and slink over there because she deigned to ask for his company.   It had been a long damn time since he’d been turned down, and he didn’t much care for it.  Returning a small taste of it to her wasn’t uncalled for.

You made your point already, for Chrissake.  Go get laid.  Get her out of your system.

❧ ❧ ❧

Sheridan turned over again, the soft scraping of Egyptian cotton sheets a cruel tease against her bare flesh.   The electric blanket on the outside of those sheets was keeping her skin warm, but her heart and spirit were notably cooler.  It was the first and last time she would ever make a ‘booty call.’

He didn’t even turn me down nicely, the smug bastard.  Fucking arrogant rock stars.

The thought was generated by tepid anger, but the real truth was that she was disappointed beyond all belief.  Any hint of arousal had been extinguished with the soft click of a disconnected phone call.  Now she was alone, left feeling inadequate and humiliated.

Another restless flip had her on her back, staring at the ceiling.

Maybe I’ll get a cat.  Forty is when women start the downhill slide into ‘crazy cat lady’, right?

❧ ❧ ❧

Once he made the decision, he was eager to get the few blocks from his SoHo penthouse to her apartment in Tribeca.  His knee bounced impatiently on the cab ride – he couldn’t be bothered to wait for a car – and Jon mentally rehearsed the charm he would need in the next few minutes.

She wasn’t going to welcome him with wide-open arms since he hung up on her.  He was realistic enough to get that, but he was counting on her base physical reaction to work in his favor.  Jon had read enough press over the years to know what he looked good in, and he fully intended to take that knowledge to the bank tonight. 

Shamelessly dousing himself in the cologne that women always complimented, he shrugged into a white dress shirt to go with his jeans and boots.  He then topped the half-buttoned shirt with a favorite black leather jacket. 

Now I just have to get past her doorman.

The door to the Leonard Street building opened silently, but the man on sentry duty inside was trained to sense a new presence in ‘his’ lobby.  The salt-and-pepper head at the desk popped up with a polite smile, and Jon gloated just a little bit inside.

Karma, you beautiful bitch, you.

“Jack?”  Jon plastered on his widest, friendliest smile and walked toward the doorman’s desk, hand extended in greeting.  “How the hell are ya, man?  Long time no see.”

“Mr. Bongiovi.”  Jack’s smile went from distantly polite to genuine pleasure as he accepted Jon’s handshake.  “Yeah, my uncle retired from this building and got me the job.  Mercer was a great place to work, but the pay is good here, too and it’s closer to home.”

“Miss seeing you in the building, but, hey.  A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” Jon agreed with a nod of approval. 

“Yes, sir.  What brings you by this part of town?”

Charm, phase one.

“A friend of mine lives here – Sheridan King.”

The other man’s face lit even brighter, and he reached for the phone on his desk.  “Ms. King is a great lady.  I’ll just announce you, since it’s so late.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”  Jon leaned over the desk and put his hand on the receiver to keep the doorman from picking it up, and offered his schmooziest smile.  “The thing is, that I was really hoping to surprise her.  Can you just tell me which apartment it is and let me up?”

“Mr. Bongiovi, I can’t do that.”

“Aw, come on Jack.  You know me.  I’m not gonna cause any trouble.  Besides, it’s her birthday.  Everybody deserves a birthday surprise, right?”

Jack started to frown, but then changed his mind, nodding his head slowly instead.  Jon could almost visibly see the gates opening.  “That’s right, it is.  Ms. King mentioned her birthday to me a day or two ago.  Not just anybody would know that, so I guess that means you really are friends.”  His eyes flicked up to Jon’s.  “You really won't cause any trouble, right?”

Jon lifted his hand in a display of innocence.  “Nah, man, not a chance.”

“Alright then.”  He gestured toward the elevator.  “In that case, you can go on up.  She’s in 5B.”

Jon landed a hearty clap on his former doorman’s back.  “Thank you.  Thank you very much.”

❧ ❧ ❧

Sheridan was mindlessly floating between a state of consciousness and the delightfully hazy world of tequila-induced sleep.  She was in the midst of taking the final step toward the hazy side when the doorbell rang,  jerking her entire body to full-alert at the unexpected noise.

Her heart raced like a sports car engine.  

Who could be ringing my doorbell at – she glanced at the bedside clock as she swung her feet to the floor – eleven thirty?

She shivered at the chill outside the cozy nest of her covers and grabbed her red satin robe.  It wasn’t going to be much protection against the cold with its thin material and the hem that only hit her mid-thigh, but it was better than going to the door buck-naked.

Stuffing her feet into the fuzzy slippers under the edge of the bed, Sheridan shuffled out of the room still tying her belt.  She didn’t bother turning on any lights as she went down the stairs, and was rounding the bannister post into the kitchen when the bell pealed again.  Whoever was on the other side of the door was impatient.

Her thoughts immediately flew to Riley or Cole.  Was there some sort of family crisis?

Surely they would have called first?  Or the doorman should have called up.  Why the hell didn’t the doorman tell me someone was on the way up here?

One hand tucked at her waist, she put the other flat against the door and peered through the little glass lens.  

Jesus, Mary and Joseph…

It was Jon, hands tucked casually in his jacket pockets and looking hotter than hell – even through the distorted, fish-eyed lens of the peep hole.

❧ ❧ ❧

He heard the deadbolts turn and widened his feet into a more casual stance.  By the time the chain was released, he was wearing the smile his mother had told him would melt a heart of stone.

The knob turned and the door came open about six inches.

Jesus…

His testosterone fired a shot southward. 

Sheridan’s blonde hair was tousled around her shoulders and her eyes were wide and glassy from sleep.  The pink in her cheeks was dark enough to match the red of the robe that left her long legs blessedly bare.

He wanted her so bad that he could already taste the sweet curve of her neck.  And the way her pupils dilated when checked him out from head to toe…?  Jon could see the desire dancing in their green depths.  She wanted him, too.  Even if she didn’t want to want him, she did.  That was going to work in his favor.

“Hello, Sheridan.”

Despite her visible shiver, she tightened her arms at her waist and tried to appear aloof.  “Jon. I thought you said Karma only knocked so many times?”

Did she have anything on under that micro-robe?  The way her stiffened nipples were clearly outlined by the shiny material, he would bet not. 

Damn.

If he managed to get over the threshold, he was going to fuck her up against that door – just to take the edge off.  Then they could take it to her bed and enjoy a slower screw the second time around.  And the third.

Dropping his voice into a lower register, he drawled, “It’s not Karma knocking. It’s me.”